From high altitude the lake was a blue spot in endless mountain grey-greens; yet, with feet on the ground, it was a poet’s daydream. The air was a hum of dragonflies, the grass a riot of asters and, in a wide arcing circle, grew softly waving evergreens. In the seasons of ambient air, the fragrance of that valley was a timeless fingerprint. It spoke of days centuries past in the same whisper as future’s promise. It was our sanity, that place, in a world of mad-hatters.
"It turns out, as obviousness would have it, that our brains (especially those of Stan Lee and Jack Kirby in this case) have been teaching us neurology through comic books and the movies that have come from them."
Full article linked to from my profile, click "abraham" below, awesome!!
Here they come, the sweet babies of recent years. Here they come, those without the manners of their elders or affluent peers. Here they come, the future of nations breath, our greatest treasure, our hearts. Here they come, the fodder for the machine. Here they come. Here they come. Here they come. Why so glum? Why not be more chipper when the morning comes? Hey ho! Hey ho! Put on your work boots! Put on your gloves! In this great system, in our grand plan, why on Earth would you be so confused?
To the sun-bleached grey, upon the industrial hour, came the lazy thunder. Feet dragged. Hard soles clomped. Faces were as grim as the obsidian sky. Soon the rumbles below were met by rumbles above and the first bolt cleaved the heavens. The soaking came not drop by drop, yet as a New Year’s plunge.
Alfred watched. He watched as if there were a rolling pleasant music quite at home within his skull. 'Ben,' he thought, 'appears to be doing rather well for himself.' At once the fine suit on his rigid limbs felt colder, the fabric less luxurious. The stitching that had felt so fine was clumsy. “Rita,” he said, soft and mellow; violins played, overpowering the flutes. “Rita. Do call my tailor, there’s a love. And, invite dear Ken for a cream tea. I insist. My treat.” Mr Kenneth Cotton would pay for his shabby work. Yes. He would be punished for it, humiliated. Maybe he would be so unfortunate that his business would burn to the ground. Yes. This would be a very sweet cream tea indeed. He smiled. The violins played on, their strings singing out beneath long-drawn batons. “Rita,” he said, his voice falling to a rumbling cello-hum. “Fetch me the king’s tailor! Find him. Bring him to me!”
Alice’s fingers were the wrapping for its bright icing glaze. The cup, you see, was artisan made especially for her. It had been a gift from before he went away. So when she sat there, cradling his famous hot chocolate recipe, savouring its sweetness, no pennies were offered for her thoughts. Several thousand miles apart, arm in arm, they wandered the wild flower gardens together. From first sip to last, she was with him.
Summer was choir and orchestra too; it was the ballad of the birds and the slow percussion of waves. My dreams of those days are inked with the fragrance of street food and the drumming of local bands. How the sunlight laughed and the dappled shade played. The playgrounds were full and every cafe crowd spilled out in wide chaotic arcs. That was summer; that was then.
"Adjective and noun associations are worthy of our consideration because by careful linkage of words such as 'black' with strong emotionally positive words (such as in 'black heavens' and 'noble black night') we can start to program subconscious bias from the brain by creating a background neurochemistry that is more positive. This keeps the prefrontal cortex more fully operational and encourages more empathy in both thoughts and behaviours. Thus society develops better through their own choices and evolves. This is part of social evolution and this kind of awareness in writers is essential."
"When we make daily choices that are emotionally indifferent, the sort that the money-nexus makes faux-virtues of, we build our capacity for emotional indifference at the direct expense of our capacity for empathy, and thus the conflict between money and love is laid bare."
"For writers in the next half century and beyond, a comprehension of how creative writing, neurology, biology and our environment interact will be essential for a successful career."
- a link to the full article is in my bio and on the Descriptionari "About" page.
Much love!!!
Angela Abraham (Daisy)